No Happy Endings
by CluelessButTrying
Summary: After years of abuse, the Baudelaires are trying their best to move forward. But just as Klaus is about to start anew at college, the VFD sends a chilling mission assignment, involving a disused code, opera tickets, and an unpleasantly familiar face. It's just like Lemony Snicket warned: This story has no happy ending, no happy beginning, and very few happy things in the middle.
1. Chapter 1

There is a secret organization, which claims it is noble. Perhaps it is: I don't think I'd be the best judge. Nobility is a difficult trait to describe, and even more difficult to identify, which might be why so many evildoers can boast of having "noble intent". Not that I wish to put the aforementioned organization in this category. All I know is that it's caused an awful lot of anguish, and woe, and committed quite a number of morally ambiguous acts, far more than you'd expect of a noble organization. The Volunteer Fire Department, they call themselves. VFD, if you're in a rush. And they do put out fires, that much is true. They just don't seem to care who gets burned in the process.

Violet sat alone in the Baudelaire library, in one of five comfortable armchairs. The siblings had taken great pains in choosing these armchairs. Libraries had been their safe spaces in all their hardships, forever dependable, so they wanted their own to be perfect. In the end, they decided on one of the simpler options: dark green, velvety fabric, each with a small and plump accompanying pillow. Four chairs were for Violet, Klaus, Sunny, and Beatrice, plus one for guests. Although, the Baudelaires (and one Snicket) did not entertain many guests. Somewhat reclusive and very co-dependent, they were a tightly knit family. Shared trauma will do that to people. Of course, they weren't always together. But on a day like this, in late summer, Violet spent almost all of her time tending to Sunny and Beatrice, who though they weren't babies anymore, still needed constant entertainment. Only at night could she snatch a quiet moment alone. She leaned her head back into the plush seat, shutting her eyes and savoring solitude. But in a minute, her bubble was burst.

Klaus came bustling in, carrying an empty box. He smiled at Violet. "I'm packing books," he explained.

Important to note: Klaus was leaving to go to college in two days. It was a university in the city, a good distance away from the Baudelaire home. Not the old one that was burned down, the new one. Where they all lived together. Except now, Klaus was moving out. It would be the farthest he's been from his siblings in years.

Violet smiled back. "Great," she replied, gesturing around the room. "Pack away."

And that was it, for their talking. Violet and Klaus rarely needed to speak. They had a level of understanding that can only come when you've fought together for your lives, on a far too regular basis. When they did talk, it was never idle chatter. So, right now, they sat in a comfortable silence. When Klaus finished packing, he smiled again at Violet, as a way of saying goodbye, and that was that.

Violet was only alone for a few minutes before her peace was shattered yet again. Just as the clock struck 10 o'clock, a scream rang out from somewhere upstairs, followed by the sounds of sobbing. Immediately, Violet heard pounding footsteps, and Klaus raced into the library, eyes wide with fear.

"Was that Beatrice?" he asked Violet breathlessly.

Violet had also bolted upright at the scream. "I think so," she replied, staring toward the stairs down the hall. "I'll go check on her. You can keep packing." A worried stone had lodged itself in her throat.

"I'm sure she's fine, Klaus. Probably just a nightmare." Nightmares were all too familiar to the Baudelaires.

She kept repeating those words to herself as she climbed up the stairs to the shared room of Sunny and Beatrice. _She's fine, it's just a nightmare. She's fine, it's just a nightmare._ Violet had grown incredibly paranoid over the years. She expected the worst from everything and everyone. With all that she's been through, you can't really blame her. I admire she even had the courage to open her eyes every morning. But Violet wasn't nearly so kind to herself. Every panic attack, every surge of fear, was followed by shame. She was supposed to be the strong one; she was supposed to protect her siblings. How could she do that if she was frightened of every corner, of every closed door? So she faked it, most of the time. Played calm, collected, confident. Especially in front of Beatrice. She bit her lip, pushed open the door, and marched into Sunny and Beatrice's room.

In the daylight, this room was lovely. The sun shined through the two windows, facing east and west, to catch the sunrise and sunset, when pink, orange, and scarlet hues played across the delicate lavender walls. Beatrice, who was growing up to be quite the artist, had sketched messy flowers, vibrant as can be, across the base of the walls. It was bright, and fun, and delightfully chaotic, just as a little girls' room should be. But that was during the day. Once the sun set, the room took on a ghastly quality. Only a measly glow from a small night-light pushed back the gloom, as monsters lurked in the shadowed corners and behind the closed closet door. And right now, the scene was even worse. Beatrice lay on her bed, face-down, wailing, as Sunny stood over her, murmuring futile comfort into her ear and holding her hand. Once Violet walked in, Sunny stared up at her.

"I can't calm her down," she said, "I can always calm her down." Her voice was tinged with desperation, her eyes wide and filled with worry.

"It's okay, Sunny," Violet replied, voice calm despite the dull panic rising in her chest, "You did what you could. Here, I'll talk to her. You can go back to bed."

Sunny moved away from Beatrice's bed, but she stayed standing right next to Violet as she approached the distraught girl.

"Hush now, Bea," whispered Violet, stroking her back, "It's okay. Did you have a nightmare? Shh-shh, it's alright. You're alright." They stayed like this for a while, Violet trying to placate Beatrice, Sunny standing, staring, from behind. The minutes dragged by like months, but slowly, Beatrice's sobbing faded away, until she was calm enough to actually speak.

Her entire body shuddered with the effort of turning her head and suppressing her cries. "We – We were outside," she managed to say, between hiccups of breath. "You and me, Violet, and we - we were walking, and – and then we st-started running, and this big snake was – was chasing, and then," she paused, "then it swallowed you!" Beatrice finally wailed, before dissolving into another bout of sobs. Violet stood shocked for a moment. After a split second she came to herself again, and leaned down to once more comfort Beatrice.

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay. I'm here now. I'm not dead. It was just a nightmare, Bea, just a nightmare."

"A-And the teeth were so awful, and – and I thought it would eat me too and I was so scared, Violet. It felt so real." Beatrice found the strength to lift herself up and peer up at Violet. "You promise you're okay?"

Was she? No, not really. Violet hadn't felt "okay" in years. She felt scared, she felt vulnerable, she felt angry, she felt panicked and trapped and a whole host of other oppressive feelings, none of which were "okay". But of course, that's not what Beatrice needed to hear. So Violet smiled down at her, and took her hand. "I promise," she replied.

"Okay," said Beatrice. Her face suddenly split into a joyful grin. She jumped out of her bed and gave Violet a hug, even though she could only really reach her legs. The simple motion filled Violet with a tingling warmth. She swooped Beatrice into her arms and placed her gently down on the bed, arranging the blankets over her, and nestled her favorite stuffed animal into her arms. Finally Violet gave her a kiss on the forehead.

"Goodnight Bea," she said.

"Goodnight Violet."

"Now," Violet said, turning to Sunny, "You have to go to bed too. Come on." Together they crossed the room to Sunny's bed. Sunny tucked herself under the covers, staring up at Violet from underneath her thin blankets.

"You okay?" Violet asked, smoothing back her young sister's hair. Sunny still looked somewhat unnerved from the whole ordeal. She shook her head, as if to shake out any frightening thoughts, and smiled.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Goodnight Violet."

"Goodnight Sunny," Violet replied. As she was turning to walk out the door, Sunny called softly after her.

"You know, you should get some sleep too!"

Violet rolled her eyes, but her face wore a grin. "I will!" she called back. That was probably a lie. And then the door was shut.

It was hard for Violet to shake the thought of Beatrice's nightmare. Why did it bother her so much? She had nightmares practically nightly, and the only effects they had on her daytime self were bags under her eyes and an urgent need for caffeine. But this one nightmare, that wasn't even her own, had filled her with a sense of unease, almost dread, even more so than usually. She repeated a mantra to herself as she trudged down the stairs. _Just a dream._ _Just a dream. Just a dream._ She was so far withdrawn into her head she barely noticed as she reached the bottom of the steps. Just as a matter of interest, Violet glanced at the clock. Jesus. It really was late. She hadn't realized that she'd been with Beatrice for all that time. Maybe she would listen to Sunny for once and go to bed herself. After all, her eyelids felt like weights over her eyes, and it'd be nice to escape from her thoughts for a while. She turned to plod towards her room. Klaus' room was adjacent to her own, and as she passed Violet saw light trickling out from the crack beneath his door. She wasn't at all surprised; Klaus was just as much of a night owl as she was. The Baudelaire turned into her own room, which was quite barren, just a simple bed with crimson bedding on one side and a mahogany desk pushed into the opposite corner. The floor held a thick rug, matching the bed. There were, however, large sheets of graph paper adorning the beige walls, on which Violet sketched ideas for her inventions and wrote any notes or equations she might find necessary. Violet felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her, and decided that she wanted sleep as soon as possible. She quickly changed into her nightclothes, and then collapsed onto her bed.

You probably know that sleep can be incredibly uncooperative. It's rarely there when you want it, and so often will it creep up on you at the absolute worst time. Violet was all too familiar with sleep's fickle nature, and so she was not at all surprised when it refused to grace her with its presence. Endless nights had been spent this way, staring at the ceiling above her head. Tonight, scenarios raced through her head, about half of which were rational, all of which were at least mildly unpleasant. _Enough,_ she finally decided, after a particularly gruesome idea stabbed itself into her consciousness, making her shudder. She sat upright and pushed herself off the bed, stumbling slightly as she made her way to her desk. She turned on the lamp that rested on its surface, and had to squint in the sudden brightness that assaulted her senses.

 _Okay,_ Violet thought as she sat in her desk chair, _Might as well distract myself._ Out of her pocket she took a black hairtie and used it to pull back her long, dark hair. As she grabbed the band, her hand brushed a threadbare ribbon, and she clenched her fist. That ribbon was filled with bad memories. Really, she didn't know why she still kept it. Maybe because it was one of the last things she had left from the time before her parents were killed. Before all this shit happened, before she feared for her life every day, before she felt sick to her stomach at the thought of olives or crows or costumes or unibrows or eye tattoos. The days before, when happiness was more than just some distant memory.

It wasn't fair. They'd had everything stolen from them: Their childhood, their innocence, their safety, all gone. They had to rebuild their lives from the rubble, brick by painstaking brick, but when so much has been turned to dust, it's impossible to keep the storm from pouring in through the gaps. Oh, but the fortune remained! What this has all been for! The enormous wealth, doesn't that make all of this worth it? You can fill the holes in your heart with cash, lure away your demons with gold coins, disguise your broken self with the finest clothes. The universe isn't cruel, after all. Because if it were cruel, it would have beaten the Baudelaires to a pulp, and left them shivering in the corner of the ring with all the life drained from their eyes. As it is, the universe beat them to a pulp, and left them shivering in the corner of the ring, with a very very large bank account. What a kind and gentle force, indeed.

Violet's violet, bitter thoughts were not a surprise to her. She'd thought them over and over, trying to rationalize her screwed up life. But still, she yanked her hand out of her pocket, away from the ribbon that had set her head spinning around like a cyclone. As she uncurled her fist, lines of crimson beaded on her palm. Blood. This time, apparently, her emotional whirlwind had left a mark, where her fingernails pierced her skin. Violet sighed. She was just so tired, of all of it. Just for one night, she wanted to escape her psyche, feel the relaxation of no feeling at all, the peace that only comes with dreamless sleep. But restfulness was an unreachable goal most nights. She still tried, but in the back of her mind, Violet knew it was futile. She sighed again.

 _I'd better wash my hand,_ she thought.

Klaus Baudelaire was sat on his bed, a stack of books towering in front of him. Boxes were strewn about the hardwood floor, some of them empty, some of them taped shut, some of them half-full of crumpled clothes or shoes or various electronic devices. Klaus stayed still, indifferent to the surrounding disaster. He was waiting for something. More accurately, someone.

Right on cue, there was a slight tapping on his door. "Come in," Klaus called. Exactly as he had expected, Violet's face, pale compared to the surrounding dimness, appeared in the doorway. She slipped into the room, pulling the door gently shut, and practically collapsed on Klaus' desk chair.

"I couldn't sleep," she mumbled, head in hands.

"Why not?" inquired Klaus.

"I could ask you the same thing."

Klaus sighed. "It's so… different now, I suppose. I'm excited to be going to university, of course, but I'm just so anxious. Are you going to be okay? Are the girls going to be okay? I haven't been without you three for so long, how am I going to manage? I can't stop thinking, is all."

"Klaus, you're the most intelligent person I know. If anyone can make something out of this hellish life, it's you," Violet reassured. "Trust me, you're going to be amazing."

Klaus grinned slightly. "Thanks," he replied. "Now your turn, why couldn't you sleep?"

"Same reason as you, I guess. Same reason as always. I think too much. I worry too much." She shook her head. "I don't know why, I just invent all these scenarios, and fears, and thoughts in my head but when I try to invent something useful out of them it never works right and there's nothing I can do."

"Hey," Klaus grabbed Violet's arm, stopping her train of thought. "You've always managed to invent a way for us to stay safe. And you're always the one the VFD goes to for inventing a solution to their endless problems."

"Just luck," Violet said, "who knows if it's going to last. After all, it's not like us volunteers are valuable to the VFD. We're replaceable."

"You might be right about that," Klaus muttered grimly. "Guess we just have to stay useful then, huh?"

"Or get out while we still can," Violet replied, staring at the wall.

"We both know that's not an option," Klaus said. "Working missions for the VFD is the best shot we have at avenging our parents, and our shithole life. I would leave the VFD in a heartbeat. I just don't think I could live with myself if I did."

"Right as always, Klaus," Violet admitted. She picked up a shirt from the floor and threw it at the wall, where it fell flat. "I hate this," she declared. Klaus nodded in silent agreement. "At least you're getting out of here. Maybe away from all of _this_ ," Violet gestured around the room, "you'll be able to live a normal life."

"You really think I could end up normal, after everything?" Klaus replied, unenthused.

"Just try. For me. I want to see one of us move on."

Klaus shook his head. "Violet, I'm not leaving for good. I'll come back whenever you need me. And I'll still work missions with you. Besides," he added, "you'll get out too one day, soon. You're taking those online classes, you'll get your high school diploma and then you can go to college too. I'm sure of it."

"No," responded Violet, voice tinged with longing, "I can't. I'll get my high school diploma, but I can't just leave this family for four years. Sunny and Beatrice need me. You need me, too. I promised I'd protect you, I promised wouldn't leave you all behind, and I'm not going to break that promise. I'd rather die." She opened her mouth to continue, but she bit her lip and fell silent. A tear slipped down her cheek, but only one. She'd cried so hard and so long in the past that she felt her tears had run dry. Klaus pulled her off the desk chair and onto the bed, where he put his arm across her shoulder and held her.

"I wish it was different," he murmured.

"I know," Violet replied. And then it was quiet.

When Klaus awoke, it was much later. The dull gray of not-quite morning was slowly replacing the impenetrable darkness of midnight. He winced as he shifted his body, feeling the stiffness that accompanied his awkward sleeping position. The movement was slight, but it was enough to cause Violet's eyes to blink open, squinting at the oncoming dawn.

"Morning", she said, voice thick with the remnants of sleep.

"Morning," Klaus replied.

She looked around and smiled crookedly. "Kind of reminds me of old times, sleeping in the same room, waking up uncomfortable and ill-rested."

Klaus laughed in response. "I suppose it does," he said. If he was going to continue, he was stopped short by an insistent growl in his stomach.

"Shall I make us an early breakfast?" Violet asked, amused.

"It's alright. You stay here, I can make us something. Perhaps just some toast?"

"Don't burn it!" Violet called as he left the room. He turned and grinned, but his eyes were sad. Both were remembering a day, now very far out of their reach.

Alone, she examined the room in which she sat. With the first light of day seeping in, it had an almost hopeful air. All those open boxes, half-packed, some empty, things strewn about; they held so many possibilities. Only next door, Violet knew her barren room stood as an exact opposite to Klaus' room. Blank, empty, resigned, unchanging. But right now, she could content herself with this room, this symbol of second chances. And of all the things the Baudelaires had, and all the things they needed, they needed a second chance the most.

Violet let herself savor the moment. So rare were times of comfort, of silence, of feeling truly at home. But of course, no good moments last. Especially for the Baudelaire orphans. As Violet sat, peacefully, Klaus' voice called from the kitchen, tight and edged with discomfort.

"Violet? I think you need to see this."

Violet careened around the doorframe, into the kitchen, where Klaus stood staring at an open refrigerator. "What is it?" she said breathlessly. Klaus said nothing, only pointed to something in the bottom drawer. Violet's gaze followed his hand, to see… a plant.

"Klaus, what are you pointing to?" she asked, bewildered.

"That's dill," he replied, still staring. Upon getting no reaction, he turned to Violet with wide eyes. "Very Fresh Dill."

Realization dawned on Violet's face. "You don't think… Verbal Fridge Dialogue? But – that code hasn't been used in years! I didn't even know if anyone knew how to use it anymore!"

"Neither did I," Klaus said. "But I know this wasn't in here last night. Looks like the VFD finally has a new mission for us. God, it's been a while."

"Yeah," responded Violet, mind racing. "Do you have your notebook, for the translation?"

"I'll get it." He sped off, into the library. Violet stared into the fridge, her face wrinkled in thought. Unconsciously, she reached into her pocket and pulled out an elastic band, using it to tie back her disheveled locks.

Klaus strode back into the kitchen, nose stuck deep into a notebook, the spine broken in three places and the navy leather binding peeling off the corners. Violet moved next to him, peering into the yellowed pages. He furiously flipped through them, past columns of scribbled lettering. At one point there was a page entirely crossed out. Beneath the mess of ink, Violet caught a glimpse of a heart, surrounding a name beginning with an "F", but it was covered by the frenzy of turning pages before she could read all of it. At last, Klaus stopped.

"Here," he said, pointing his finger at the heading of this set of notes. Verbal Fridge Dialogue, it read.

"Indicated by the presence of Very Fresh Dill. Well, that's been done. Then, the initials of the addressee are found in the darkest jam in the fridge."

Violet quickly pointed to the inside shelf. "Grape jam, there," she said. Klaus lifted the jar, gingerly unscrewing the lid. Both siblings stood tense as he opened the jam.

"V. B," Violet breathed. "Violet Baudelaire."

Silently, Klaus placed the jar on the closest countertop. "Next, the number of olives indicates the date, with one signifying Sunday, two signifying Monday, etc," he intoned. Violet pulled the container of olives from the back of the fridge, proceeding to open the plastic lid and stare into it. Her lips moved silently, counting.

"Seven," she proclaimed. "Saturday. Today's Tuesday. We have four days."

"The ingredient list of a spice-based condiment points to an encoded poem. The only spice-based condiment in here is mustard," Klaus continued. He fumbled past various bottles, finding the correct one. His eyes flicked over the ingredient list, catching on one item. "A Complete History of Woodworking." He stopped. He looked again, squinting as to better see the small lettering. "That can't be right," he muttered. "That's not even a poem, it's a book, and it gives no instruction on where in the book to find the code. There has to be more." He looked at Violet, brow furrowed with frustration.

"I guess we just have to find the book and hope for the best," Violet said, sounding altogether more confident then she felt. Klaus nodded, and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. Together, they strode into the library.

Silently they combed shelf after shelf. The books were organized by subject and author, but they had no section for wood, and they had no idea who the author was. Violet doubted the book was even theirs. It had most likely been placed there by whichever volunteer left the message.

In a library of any size, finding an unfamiliar book with no cataloguing system is a difficult feat. With the vastness of the Baudelaire library, the task became nigh impossible. By the time Klaus cried out that he had found it, the sun was completely up and streaming through the windows.

Brother and sister crowded together to see the enormous novel Klaus held in his hands. The binding was dark and smooth, with silver lettering spelling the title: _A Complete History of Woodworking._ It looked new, like it had never been read. He eased the cover open. Both he and Violet held their breath. And on the first page was…

Nothing. Well, not literally nothing, but it might as well have been nothing, it was so utterly useless and dull. In other words, it was exactly what the title promised. Violet and Klaus looked at each other and groaned in annoyance.

"Of course," grumbled Violet. "It can never be easy."

Klaus examined the massive collection of paper, and his defeated expression turned thoughtful. He turned over what must have been a thousand pages, and found the very back of the book.

"There," he cried, as Violet peered over his shoulder, "This book has an index. It still looks about 25 pages long, but at least it gives us a smaller area to search."

Violet grinned. "Klaus, you're a genius. What would we do without the index?"

"Violet, do we have any idea what we're looking for?"

"Not that I know of. Maybe try finding VFD?" she suggested.

Klaus flipped a few pages, skimming down the lines of text.

"Nothing," he finally declared. Both issued a sigh of disappointment. Klaus flipped back to the beginning of the index and began combing through each item, searching for one that could lead them to the all-important message. Meanwhile, Violet racked her brains for anything that could be significant to the secret organization.

"Wait," Violet said, just as Klaus finished reading a short and entirely useless chapter about woodworking and its affiliation with secret codes. "What about Lucky Smells Lumbermill?"

"That didn't even occur to me!" her brother replied. "I guess it's worth a shot."

He turned to the page containing all the words beginning in L, and started scanning. Violet looked from over his shoulder with bated breath. She was the one to first see it.

"There," she exclaimed, pointing a finger to the bottom of a page. "Lucky Smells Lumbermill, page 963."

"Here goes nothing," Klaus muttered.

Once again, the page looked perfectly normal. "Shit". Violet sank into a nearby chair, stumped. "I thought that would be the one."

Klaus paid her no mind. He was in his own separate world, as he always was when he researched. Violet watched with briefly as he turned page after page, then looked away, out the window, where the morning sky was rapidly being overtaken by looming clouds.

"Aha!" Klaus cried. His sudden outburst made Violet jump in her seat.

"What? What is it?" Violet asked, springing to his side.

"Listen to this. 'Baudelaires, I apologize for the use of the anomalous and antiquated Verbal Fridge Dialogue, and the minimal direction it provided, however, our enemies are pursuing closely behind us, and no extent of superfluous risk can be taken.' It's a secret message hidden in the chapter!"

"Klaus, that's amazing! But, what does anomalous mean? And superfluous?" Violet inquired.

"Anomalous means uncommon, and superfluous means extra and unnecessary," Klaus explained.

Just as he was about to resume reading, a small figure appeared in the doorway of the library.

"Good morning Violet! Good morning Klaus!" called the figure, quickly recognized as Beatrice. Sunny was right behind her. The two elder siblings looked at each other.

"Normality calls," said Violet, a sardonic twist in her words.

"I guess the secret society will have to wait," sighed Klaus, placing a bookmark in between the pages and shutting the novel with a snap. Violet pulled the tie out of her hair, letting it fall freely about her face.

"Good morning girls! Do you want some breakfast?" she cooed.


	2. Chapter 2

To say Violet was distracted as she sat at the dining room table, would be an understatement. She didn't hear a word of Beatrice's happy chatter. The entirely of her concentration was focused on the note that they had found. She only forced herself to interact when Sunny placed a large plate of chocolate chip pancakes on the table, beaming at her handiwork.

"Thanks, Sunny," Violet said, piling some onto her and Beatrice's plate. "You didn't have to do this, I could've made breakfast."

"Are you sure about that, Violet? Your cooking hasn't always been the most successful," teased Klaus.

"Hey, I can make a mean pasta puttanesca," she retorted.

"It doesn't matter anyway," interjected Sunny, "I like to cook." She paused. "Also I'm definitely better at it then you are, Violet."

The sister shrugged. "Well, that much is true."

"I think Violet is a great chef!" cried Beatrice. Violet laughed.

"Thanks, Bea. But if you're looking for cooking tips, I'd ask Sunny."

Despite her eagerness to usher away the young girls, and read the mysterious message, Violet tried her best to enjoy the breakfast. It was delicious, after all. Plus, moments like these – just being a family, laughing together – made her life worth living. She smiled, and acted amazed when Beatrice made some bold proclamation about opening her own art gallery. She chatted with Sunny about recipes and spices. And when Klaus met her eyes and looked meaningfully at the library door, she sent him a silent message: _Just hold on. Be patient._

Eventually, Beatrice got bored of sitting and talking. She dragged Sunny off to go play something-or-other. As they left, it seemed they took the light with them, leaving the elder siblings in dark silence.

Both grabbed a plate and hurriedly began washing. They scrubbed the kitchen clean without saying a word. Once all the dishes were sparkling, Klaus turned to Violet.

"Shall we?" he asked

"Lead the way."

The book was exactly where Klaus had left it, on a cherry wood table scattered with papers. He sat in the nearest armchair and pulled the novel onto his lap, where it fell open to precisely the right page. Violet leaned in to hear his low whisper.

 _"_ _Baudelaires, I apologize for the use of the anomalous and antiquated Verbal Fridge Dialogue, and the minimal direction it provided, however, our enemies are pursuing closely behind us, and no extent of superfluous risk can be taken. You must go to the Buona Fortuna opera house on the date previously specified. Ask for the Very Fortuitous Discount. Once at your seats, remove the cushioning to find the object of your mission and the tools you will need to complete it. I'm sorry, but that's all I am able to tell you as of now. You will know what to do when the time comes. For now, burn this message. No one but you can know of it. We are all in danger._

\- _Q"_

Klaus furrowed his brow at the signature.

"Q? You don't think that could be Q like Quagmire, could it? I mean, that's crazy. We haven't had contact with them in years. It must be some other Q, someone we haven't met."

He worried the pages of the book in his hand. "But that's also unlikely, considering the dwindling number of volunteers. Violet, what do you think?"

Violet had also thought of Quagmire when she saw the Q. Really, she thought of one Quigley Quagmire, a boy who she had never quite managed to forget. But she reined her hope in immediately.

"I don't know," she admitted to the expectant Klaus. She stared at the page thoughtfully. "I wonder why they wrote 'We are all in danger'. I mean, isn't that kind of old news?"

"Maybe it's more danger than before," Klaus suggested.

"I don't think that's even possible."

"Either way, I guess we're going to the opera on Saturday."

"No, I'm going to the opera on Saturday. You're moving into university in two days," Violet reminded. "By Saturday, you'll be gone."

Klaus' eyes bugged out of his head. "Violet, I'm not letting you go on a mission on your own!" he exclaimed. "It's dangerous. And I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt."

"Are you sure? You're going away to escape this shit, there's no reason you should have to still be involved in missions. I can handle myself, if I need to."

Klaus took hold of her hand. "But you don't need to. Because I'm going to look out for you, just like we always have, and we always will."

"Okay," said Violet. Then she smiled. "Thank you, Klaus."

"So, how is this going to work?" she asked, leaving the moment behind.

"Easy. The opera house is in the city. I'll meet you there an hour before the opera begins. Sunny can watch Beatrice for the night," Klaus replied, taking notes in his commonplace book. "And I have written all the essential information from the message into my notebook, so we… can burn away." His voice tightened on the last sentence.

Violet laughed. "I can burn the book. I won't make you go through that trauma."

"Oh thank god," sighed Klaus, relieved. "Just for that, I will take care of the girls all afternoon. You should try and catch up on sleep. You look absolutely exhausted."

"I'll do my best," Violet said with a grin. Her face fell as she took the book from Klaus. The idea of burning it really wasn't attractive. Obviously, she would be better suited than Klaus, who might actually cry over the novel, but Violet was also not a huge fan of fire. Nonetheless, she strode off after only a second's hesitation. There was destruction that had to be done.

Klaus left two days later. The girls went with him into the city and carried his boxes into his dormitory. Beatrice cried when saying goodbye. Sunny's eyes were wide, and her face was sad as she hugged him. Violet went last, and Klaus pulled her into a tight embrace.

"See you Saturday," he whispered, her face next to his.

"You can still back out of it," she returned.

He released her from the hug as if he hadn't heard her.

"Now don't miss me too much, okay?" said Klaus, kneeling to make eye contact with the younger two. "I'll see you soon, don't worry."

"You promise?" urged Beatrice, tears spilling down her face.

"I promise."

The final goodbyes being said, two Baudelaires and one Snicket left the room. The door shut. Klaus was alone.


End file.
